


pinning, pining

by squipport



Series: Simmons Gets the Energy Sword AU [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Crushes, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Training, Trans Agent Washington (Red vs. Blue), Trans Dick Simmons, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wrestling, jealous grif, sarge lopez tucker & caboose mentioned, simmons gets the energy sword au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23893804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squipport/pseuds/squipport
Summary: the inherent eroticism in sparring
Relationships: Dick Simmons & Agent Washington, Dick Simmons/Agent Washington
Series: Simmons Gets the Energy Sword AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722154
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	pinning, pining

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this fanart](https://godshaper.tumblr.com/post/190498768042/horny-on-main-simmons-best-simmons-post) by @[godshaper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azaphod/pseuds/Azaphod), who also did me a huge favour by beta reading for me !

For a Blue, Wash spends an awful amount of time at Red Base.

Caboose tags along most days – he, Wash, and Sarge, who has long ago stopped complaining at the ‘infiltration’, will work on a project together for hours. It makes sense, Simmons supposes, what with Lopez being... gone. With the war between the Reds and Blues technically over Sarge needs something to fill the time. Near constant modifications to the Warthog, most ineffective, seems to be his answer and he needs the helping hands to get it back in working order.

Mostly though Wash goes to Red Base for training. Caboose and Sarge frequently join as well, and Wash has even managed to coerce Tucker into taking part a few times. Grif is the only one who’s yet to show his face anywhere near Wash’s training sessions, but that’s okay because mostly Wash is there to train with Simmons anyway.

Simmons had been nervous about Wash’s presence initially; it hadn’t been that long ago that he was trying to kill them, Simmons especially. But when Wash had expressed an interest in training _him_ , specifically, that nervousness had melted away, replaced by a desire to rise to the challenge, to prove himself and keep Wash’s attention on him.

They’re practicing with the energy sword today. Or at least, they’re supposed to be but Simmons is having a hard time keeping it activated. He’s had the thing for a couple years now and still he’s struggling with the basics.

“Let’s take a break,” Wash suggests, noticing Simmons’ rising frustration as his sword powers down again.

“What? No! I can do this,” he insists. He keeps shaking the dormant sword hilt and muttering curses at it. He smacks it against his palm and it springs to life; Simmons immediately drops it into the grass with a startled yelp.

He dives to grab it, movements hurried so as to not annoy Wash or waste anymore of his time than he already has. He closes his fist around the handle and is alarmed when another hand, clad in light blue armour, rests on top of his own. He looks up to find Wash crouched in front of him, expression obscured by his helmet.

"The energy sword isn't working," he says, voice careful slow and soft, as if he's worried about spooking Simmons. "Let's take a break from the energy sword for now and work on something else, okay?"

He nods mutely and the two rise. Simmons holsters the hilt against his thigh and takes a deep breath; the threat of wrapping up training so soon had panicked him more than it should have.

"We could practice some hand to hand. It's similar movements to our training with your sword, but since we're not working with weapons we could take our armour off; it's getting pretty hot out here."

Simmons mumbles something and removes his helmet, pausing to take a drink of water. Wash must have heard some kind of agreement to his proposal in Simmons' mutterings, because when he turns around Wash is already halfway out of armour and working at stripping his greaves.

He isn't sure why he does it, but Simmons finds himself watching Wash silently as he continues to remove his armour, and then his undersuit. It's then that Wash turns to him. He doesn't say anything, just cocks an eyebrow and it's enough to startle Simmons, make him realize that he's being _weird_. He starts removing his own armour, fumbling with the latches in his haste. Soon enough he's down to his own undersuit, deciding against removing it despite the heat.

"Okay, do you want to do some wrestling or sparring today?"

Simmons chokes on his response as he gets a look at Wash; while removing his own armour, he had continued to strip and now Wash was standing before him, stretching his arms across his body one way and then the next, wearing only a sports bra and skin-tight workout shorts. He's being weird again, but Simmons can't stop from _staring_ ; Wash is beautiful.

It's not about his looks, really. Not that he wasn't attractive and not that Simmons wasn't looking. Wash is a lot of things that Simmons isn't, but in that moment Simmons was made aware of a commonality between them, as well as a dissonance within that. So it wasn't just that Wash was handsome, it was that he was confident; completely unafraid of who he was and to be that person. Simmons had had no idea Wash was transgender until this moment, he'd never told him, but that hadn't stopped Wash from undressing in front of him, from stripping down, making it obvious, and then acting so casual about it, like it was as natural as breathing.

He thinks he should be envious, maybe, or angry with Wash for being so dismissive of something he's struggled himself with his whole life. Instead he's just awed and inspired.

"I'll take your silence as a vote for wrestling, then?"

And just like that Simmons is snapped out of his near trance with a groan. "No, let's spar. You're just gonna throw me around and I'll be too sore for anything tomorrow."

"Oh, come on, you baby. You've still got Kevlar, it's not gonna hurt that bad," he answers, but his tone isn't hurtful in it's mockery, only ever playful. "I'm the one who's gonna be in trouble if you hit me with that metal hand of yours."

Simmons looks down at said hand and clenches it thoughtfully. With a sigh, he realizes Wash is right and relents, and the two move into a crouch, getting low in preparation of their training.

Wash always waits for Simmons to make the first move, and today is no different. They keep moving, feinting forward with no intention of going further, as Simmons considers his angles; he has yet to beat Wash and he wants today to be the day.

He strikes forward and gets Wash in a headlock. It lasts only a second; Wash gets his arms around Simmons’ middle and lifts. With his feet of the ground, Wash has the upper hand. He keeps his hold on Simmons even as he throws him to the ground. The move frees him from Simmons’ hold and from there it’s easy to pin Simmons, winning the round. Wash helps him up, and they reset.

They start slow, mainly easy tackles and pins. Wash pauses occasionally to explain what he’s doing, or how Simmons could avoid or get out of certain holds. They continue like this for the better part of a half hour, and then Wash starts to get more aggressive.

They’re locked in a hold when Simmons tries to go low, only for Wash to get a hand under him and flip him over across his back and against the ground. Simmons is expecting a moment to collect himself when they reset, but Wash tackles him, arms around his center and knocking him off balance. He expects to go down, but Wash changes his hold and when he rises he has Simmons over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

Wash explains to him that he could slam him down and pin him, but he doesn’t want to hurt him. Simmons is only barely paying attention, choosing instead to focus on Wash holding him like he’s nothing. When Wash puts him down, his knees are only a little wobbly.

“You good to keep going?” Wash asks him, steadying him with a warm hand on his shoulder. It’s been nearly an hour and Simmons is definitely starting to get tired, but when he looks at Wash he can see how bright his eyes are and how much he’s enjoying himself.

“...let’s do one more round.”

Wash smiles at him and Simmons’ breath catches in his throat; however sore he’ll be tomorrow will have been worth it.

They move back into position and Simmons expects Wash to tackle him without preamble again, but it doesn’t come. They’re back to the earlier feinting, waiting on the other to make a move, Wash apparently happy to draw this out.

Simmons goes for a tackle and uses one hand to grab Wash’s shin, pulling it towards him. He’s surprised when it works and Wash goes down, back hitting the ground. He tries to pin Wash down, but Wash arches his back and twists, and just like that the tables are turned and it’s Wash above Simmons, one of his legs over Wash’s shoulder with his body between his thighs, held down by strong hands on his upper arms.

They’re breathing hard, breath mingling in the air between them. This close, Simmons can see the sweat dotting Wash’s forehead and the flush in his cheeks; he can see that there’s gold circling his pupils, undetectable at a distance, swallowed by the dark brown of his eyes.

Wash has two scars on his face that run parallel; through his eyebrow, just shy of his eye, and across his nose. Simmons knows this scar, caused this scar, even, back when Wash had turned out to be their enemy. He should feel guilty, Simmons thinks – it had been in self defense, but Wash was his friend now. Instead he feels proud, immensely satisfied, and it’s only that feeling that brings up any guilt about the scar.

There’s a burn in his leg where it’s still held up at an awkward angle and it’s too hot to stay like this, pinned under Wash’s weight, but Simmons doesn’t move or protest. They stay just as they are for what feels like minutes.

Wash shifts and it draws him closer to Simmons, a slight breach in the distance between them. He pauses and Simmons holds his breath, waiting for something _more_.

He moves closer, hands squeezing gently where they still hold Simmons down. Simmons closes his eyes and breathes out a sigh and then –

“Simmons! Sarge is asking for you!”

Wash backs away, Simmons’ leg slipping from his body as he sits back on his heels. Simmons cranes his neck and twists to see Grif approaching them.

“What?” he asks, clearing his throat and flushing with embarrassment at how dry it was, making his voice crack.

“Sarge told me to come get you,” Grif says, and Simmons swears he sounds annoyed. “Suit up and come on. Wash put some fucking clothes on.”

He chuckles quietly and stands, extending a hand to Simmons and helping him to his feet.

“Good work today,” he says, clapping a friendly hand on Simmons’ shoulder briefly. Simmons mumbles out a thank you, turning to hide his awkward smile from the praise.

He puts his armour back on, Grif waiting impatiently nearby and Wash gathering his own things, too sweaty to get back into his undersuit.

Simmons hesitates once fully dressed. Grif is groaning for him to _come on, already_ and he really should because Sarge is waiting, but it feels wrong to leave Wash out here to pick up the pieces of his armour alone.

“I’ll be okay,” he says, noticing Simmons’ hovering. “Go see what Sarge wants; I don’t want him to start shooting at me every time I come around again just because I held up one of his privates.”

Grif leads him back to base, going at a pace that Simmons might considered hurried, at least for Grif. He’s mumbling something to himself, clearly still annoyed, but Simmons can’t figure out why or what he’s saying.

Just before entering Red Base, Simmons looks back at Wash one last time.

Wash is standing still, watching Simmons with his arms crossed over his chest. He waves and Simmons timidly returns it before hurrying into Red Base to find Sarge.

Even from that distance, he’d been able to see Wash’s smile.

**Author's Note:**

> find me [here on tumblr](https://agentwashlngton.tumblr.com/post/614026891983241216/grimmons-fic-drowning-butterflies)  
> i don't usually explain my headcanons, but while writing this i had a feeling that wash was really enjoying himself while he and simmons were wrestling. jack (godshaper) and i are fans of the carwash siblings au and i decided that wrestling was something wash got into and taught himself because of allison, so he would have a connection to the mother he never knew


End file.
